Nurse Elis Euryale and nurse Blanche are both dressed in crisp nurse uniforms, gloves ****ped tightly over their fingers, eyes sharp with clinical dominance. No warmth. No mercy. Just protocol. And procedure. He thought he was ready. He was wrong. First, the disinfectant. A sting as they wipe down his soft, exposed cock — already twitching with fear beneath their gaze. He flinches. He whimpers. But he doesn’t pull away. He can’t. His limbs are restrained. Then — the staple. Sterile. Sharp. Final. They pull back his foreskin and clamp it taut. One loud **** — and his cockhead is sealed shut. Another staple. Another. A perfect row of cold metal binding his flesh, pinching him closed like he was never meant to open. Close-up. Full view. Every agonizing detail visible — the way his skin stretches, the way his breath hitches, the way he belongs to them now. They leave him like that — bound, stapled, humbled — while they chart his progress. Cold. Detached. Divine. And then… the removal. One by one. Slow. Deliberate. Each staple popping free as he gasps beneath them. Because he liked being fixed. He craved the closure. And now that it’s gone… he’s empty. But don’t worry, pet. They keep the staples. And they always have room for a follow-up.
